She turns around, snarling and ready to send me packing, but her face transforms when she sees mine. I’ve never seen her before, but from the way she’s smiling at me, her large brown eyes shimmering, I will assume I’m her type.

“You have really cool glasses.”

I let out a drunken giggle. “Thanks. They were a gift from my best friend.”

She’s very pretty. Tony would like her. He should come here, take his chance before anyone else sees her. I glance at him, but he’s in a great drunken conversation with Lucie. The brunette doesn’t follow my gaze.

“How do you know Sacha?” she asks over the music.

“We go to school together.”

“Oh, are you going to that English school too?”

I go to Colette International School for Bilingual Students, or CISBS for short. Because BS sounds like bullshit, we usually stick to Colette International.

“I am,” I answer with a lot of pride for somebody whose only skill is to be able to lie both in French and English. “But technically it’s a French school, it’s just that lessons are delivered in English.” I can tell she’s not really interested in where I go to school, but she wants someone to talk to. I glance around at Tony and Lucie back in the living room. They have their backs turned to me.

Brunette clutches her beer to her chest, her cheeks pink. “I’m Agnes, by the way.”

“Lou.”

Her cheeks grow darker. “I know who you are.”

“You do?” I hope I haven’t made a complete fool of myself in front of her at one point or another like I usually do.

“I mean, I’ve seen you before. We went to the same college. Everybody knows you there.”

“How so?”

“You’re the guy who looks like Kurt Cobain.”

Okay, let me stop here for those who might have no clue who Kurt Cobain is. Frontman of the band Nirvana, huge in the nineties, still huge today. Kurt committed suicide at the age of twenty-seven and entered the hall of rock-and-roll afterlife fame, drinking kegs for eternity with the likes of Jimi Hendricks, Janis Joplin, and Jim Morrison.

Do I look like Kurt Cobain? Vaguely. We do share the same shoulder-length, unwashed blond hair, the same bright blue eyes, and the same grunge style of clothing. On purpose? Yes, yes, of course, yes.

There might be a time when I regret this decision. Obviously, tonight’s not that time. After all, didn’t she just say everybody at my former college knows who I am? I spent four years there and the only time people took notice of me wasn’t to shower me with compliments, believe it.

“Did you come here alone?” Agnes asks, drawing closer.

I have no intention of cheating on my girlfriend tonight, or ever. But a pretty girl throws you a look, and something tugs at your heartstrings. Suddenly I want to give her whatever she wants, be whoever she wants. Somewhere, though — somehow — Lucie has sniffed out the situation, and before I can answer, she has teleported from the living room to my left flank.

“What’s going on here?” Lucie’s got enough booze in her bloodstream to act nasty. Agnes and I better watch out.

Agnes feels the same threat hanging in the air. She even backtracks straight into the kitchen island. “We were talking about that English school.”

“Ah, Colette?” Lucie takes my hand. “I go there too.”

Tony, who has followed Lucie to the kitchen, raises his finger. “So do I, by the way.” Tony clearly doesn’t think Agnes is the enemy. From the look of it, he would prefer to ask her out. But I know he won’t. As brave and bold as my best friend is in so many areas of his life, girls are not one of them.

Lucie pounces on me and flattens me against the fridge while Agnes looks away. “You look so hot tonight.”

“Thanks, baby.”

Lucie always tells me I’m hot. It’s either flattering or it just means I have literally nothing else of interest to offer. But you don’t know Lucie as I do: when a girl of her calibre calls you hot and pins you against an appliance, you thank her, and you do what she says. Rich, super smart, gorgeous and athletic, she could have anyone in the world, but when she arrived at Colette last fall, she gave up her fancy mates in favour of Tony and me. So, I let her squeeze and probe me without complaining, even as the amount of booze I have drunk is starting to make me feel completely wasted.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

I press my lips together. “Nothing.”

“Nothing. Really?” Her forehead creases. “You’re two hours late, you don’t want to go with me to the bathroom, you disappear into the kitchen, and I find you flirting with some bitch minutes after you’ve arrived.”

“Oh, come on, don’t call her a bitch. We were just talking.”

“Just say it! You’re interested in her.”

Here’s the truth: when you’re as anxious as I am, keeping up an air of nonchalance demands a lot of energy, which means I sleep a lot. I either sleep, or I run to make up for all the sleeping. It’s as simple as that. Who has time to have a mistress when one’s married to chronic anxiety? But I say nothing. My silence, which she cherishes on so many occasions, now only serves to antagonise her.

“Forget it!” Her tone sounds like the gavel after a death sentence. She whips around and walks off, eyes blazing, towards the dance floor.

“Hey, Agnes?” I turn to her and gently nudge Tony so that he’s standing between us. “Have you met Tony? He’s a legend, an absolute rockstar.”

Tony puffs up his chest. “Why, thanks, my dear Lou—”

“Do you guys have a band?” Agnes’s face lights up.

Tony snorts. “No need for that. It’s the attitude that counts, you see.” She seems a little disappointed by his answer, but he doesn’t notice. “It’s an act of rebellion, a way of being truly unapologetic about who you are, you know. Fuck the system, the patriarchy, and everything in between. Let me start at the beginning. Have you read Marx?”

Agnes’s shoulders sag, but she’s stuck with him now. I know this stuff by heart, being his first and best student, so I quickly slip out of the kitchen. Now, changing the music is of critical importance, or else Lucie’s going to stay pissed off. I’ve already pushed her too far tonight. Proof: she’s dancing to Beyoncé, flailing her arms around, and spearing me with her pale glare all at the same time. I’m going to have to go in. At this point there’s no turning back.

I wish I had more booze.